Bath
by conchepcion
Summary: She'd only wanted to have a quiet bath.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** This will be in three parts. The next part will be obnoxiously long and disgustingly detailed.

* * *

Having a bath had been one of her favourite things growing up, except her brother popping up on her unexpectedly. They didn't have locks on the bathroom door, because their mother assumed they'd be up to '_no good'_. George never liked that at all, since he was always up to no good, though in the typical teenager driven on hormones way, unlike her who spent an age _becoming a prune_, like he'd say the minute she went shrieking off, water splattering all over the place when he went on the toilet while she was still there, chatting away disapprovingly about how she'd become a spinster with all the bathwater her body consumed.

Somehow it had been a blessing her flat only had a shower, since she didn't waste time in a shower, except on occasion, but that was on those days she wanted to almost drown (regularly due to one curly haired man).

It felt rather strange exploiting someone else's bathtub, but he wasn't home, at least she hadn't heard him rummaging about. After all, the door didn't have a lock either, making her recall when she was younger.

'_Who' didn't have locks on their bathroom?_

Sherlock Holmes.

For some reason Sherlock didn't bother having a lock. Not that she minded, since he'd regularly know if she was in when he was home at all.

Deductions certainly came in handy that way.

When he'd first suggested her staying at Baker Street, because her bathroom was being rebuilt she'd blinked at him for a few seconds, until he had to repeat the question (or well it hadn't sounded much like a question or an offer for that matter). She suspected that he like her didn't enjoy the idea of the showers offered at St Bart's. Molly didn't really mind, but the last time she'd had a shower at work it had lead to a really awkward conversation with one of the elderly nurses.

The woman Sally hadn't seemed at all ashamed standing naked in front of her for an age, discussing hospital gossip, while Molly was drying her hair – and the woman's ginger curls (not matching the blond ones on her head) were right by her face.

The human body wasn't something she had a problem with. After all her work was centred on it, but dead corpses were so much easier to handle. They wouldn't move about or do anything unpleasant or smell fishy (depending on what they'd gone through of course). People were a problem in itself…

_Oh my God! I'm starting to sound like him._

Molly laughed to herself, prodding her toes at the faucet, while the water was still pleasantly warm. She regretted not making a cup of tea for herself and leaving her book out on the coffee table in the living room. There was not a chance she'd nip out to get it, as she suspected something was bound to go wrong.

Despite her living with Sherlock, their paths barely crossed and it was an incident such as that, which begged for a moment of her turning a terrible shade of red. No, she would enjoy her bath accompanied with her thoughts.

Sighing, she rested her head properly on the towel she'd folded to use as a pillow, while she tried to drift off a bit. Not that she was going to properly sleep. Many of her _patients _were unfortunately people who'd fallen asleep in the bath, but they were usually people over a certain age.

She liked to think her skin still had some elasticity, even if she was a spinster according to her big brother. He had of course settled down with a large family and was much more subdued, always worrying about her, like their dad had, and she rather enjoyed that. Her closest encounter to marital bliss had been with Tom, but it hadn't worked out properly. George had congratulated her that day, for some odd reason, as he apparently hadn't taken a great liking to Tom – "He just seems so…_so stupid_." Which were more or less the same words spoken by Sherlock himself, though certainly in a more derisive tone and with a loud snort.

_Maybe George and Sherlock would get along, oh, don't go there…_

Obviously this was why she needed a distraction, a soothing cup of camomile would do her good, or the book of course, which Sherlock had luckily not told the ending of yet. Shaking the idea off, as she was distracted by the warm bathwater - she was amazed of how quiet it was.

It was odd how serene the flat really was, there was some sort of odd tranquillity to it, especially considering how John gave her a great list of things to be adhered to the instant she said she'd be living at 221B – _"Don't let him get bored…and try your best-,"_

"_Just don't be in his way," added Mary, "That's what you mean, right, John?"_

Before Mrs Watson had gone on a long rant – " - _he's a grown man – he even offered his flat for her to stay. And he's barely going to be there anyway, didn't you say he was going off to Denmark for a case?" _She'd half-expected him to badger her to join him on one of his cases, but he hadn't. And she'd been too tired to bother him about any of it, except her weekend was entirely vacant, excluding this bath, which she'd planned since she woke up.

Now it was evening, and she couldn't boast of having done much more than getting some shopping done and watching a horrendous amount of reality shows to numb the slight boredom that crept up on her. She was after all living in 221B; the infamous flat of Sherlock and John Watson (at least that's what the papers wrote) and the most exciting thing that happened all day was when she realized she had bought a packet of crisps (forgotten crisps were the best).

During her decision that perhaps thinking wasn't a good idea, since her thoughts obviously only went one way – the bathroom door creaked open. Of all the things she imagined would happen, Sherlock walking in_ naked_ wasn't one of them.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Unfortunately not disgustingly long, I'm afraid, and I should also properly edit, but sod it. Good morning to you too.

* * *

_Naked._

Her jaw dropped, like any jaw would drop at such a sight. There he strode in, no conscious effort to disguise himself from her eyes.

No sheet, not one piece of fabric covering a single part of his body.

She'd always thought if he'd dare to walk in, he'd at least be wearing something, anything, _at least_.

But apparently not!

No, clothes were apparently optional in 221B. Perhaps this was why she hadn't seen him hanging around in the flat, because he was secretly a nudist. Maybe that's why there existed rumours about him and John in the first place. Maybe Sherlock only ever put on clothes because he expected people, clients, for otherwise he'd wander about in the nude free wil – _don't._ It took her mere seconds to think all of these things, her mind racing, while she just gawked, since what else could she do? She didn't know what to say, since what could she say?

'_Fancy seeing you here. In the bathroom. Naked.'_

How many years hadn't she fantasized about seeing him like this, utterly undone and here he was, giving here a free show without shouldering a burden. Obviously he was confident striding in, standing in front of the mirror, his well-shaped bum facing her. Not that she hadn't seen everything else for that matter since it was difficult not to see what he was sporting. There were times and places, and bringing _that_ in wasn't one of those, especially not in her company.

A grown man having an erection would know what to do with it, or did he just will it away? Maybe he was using _her_ to will it away for that matter. But luckily he couldn't see anything to turn him off, only the peak of her breasts were visible above water, the rest was covered by large bubbles and foam.

Molly cleared her throat soundly.

Somehow he wasn't aware she was in there, but he only turned around at that, standing right in front of the bath tub looking idle.

No shame whatsoever.

There it all was, his broad shoulders, his sculpted chest riddled with sparse light hairs, the toned muscles at his abdomen and the trail of darker hair that started below his belly button.

All of this led to his glaringly obvious cock.

She was supposed to have a problem with this, in the name of pure normality she should technically be indignant, almost fuming at the fact that he'd take bloody liberties showing off his manhood like some prime gorilla, except she was oddly un-phased. Well, if she ignored her flushed cheeks, the goose bumps, or her nipples automatically hardening. It was all bodily functions after all, and she highly expected him to make the smarmy comment, pointing out her failures as a pathologist.

She was only supposed to have a bath. This wasn't what she'd expected when she'd planned the bath. Him donning his coat, asking her to join him for a case, throwing a towel into the tub seemed likely, but not naked – certainly not with a hard-on. It was really hard not to keep her eyes fixed on his cock, very difficult really to think about anything else. She was supposed to be offended, to be distraught, except she just ogled like an idiot.

"Umm…" she said looking up at him uneasily, for once actually looking at his face throughout the whole thing.

Sherlock not talking had put her on edge. He wasn't supposed to be quiet, as the man was barely built for silence.

Covering her hand over her face, despite having obviously been caught looking, Molly spoke in a muffled voice behind her hand, "What are you doing in here? Is it a case? Because, I'm a bit busy." Annoyed seemed an honestly good response, since he could hardly drag her out of the water, especially naked, like he was, without them slamming into each other – nakedly. Those images sprung up immediately, impossible not to, since she had more than her imagination to draw from for once.

Honestly why had he popped in naked? She'd heard he slept in the nude, but he really hadn't needed to give her proof. Now only air and water separated them, though somehow the fact that she was concealed made her feel better. Yet, where was the disarming comment, which would make her flush (not that she wasn't beetroot red at the moment anyway)? His silence was more lethal than anything else. Of course…_no, don't._ The forbidden thought, the one thing she really shouldn't be thinking of soaked was if his visit was really due to the proud member between his strong thighs. Sherlock had never seemed interested in that sort of thing, the sort of thing being sex, and she hardly expected him to reveal his lust for her starker's either. Shoving that thought away, she tried talking again, "Sherlock?" she said, but again it was just silence.

This was just odd.

No one just showed up naked, and if it was a mistake he'd had walked off long ago, instead of standing so perfectly still.

Carefully she peeked between her fingers, staring up at the man, wondering why on earth he wasn't coming with some slick comeback about her having a problem with his naked body, but no, he just looked docile.

Molly dropped her hand in astonishment, blinking up at him, trying to understand what on earth was going on, since he didn't look like himself.

His gaze was rather hooded, his eyes slowly opening and closing, looking rather unmoved, as he stood looking at her. Her dream scenarios never involved him being unaffected, though obviously he was being affected by something if his _manhood _was any sort of proof.

A giggle burst out of her mouth nervously, "Sherlock? Really, why are you here? Are you alright?"

He just stood there for an answer, while she began to frown, trying to understand the situation, until she stared long enough at his face (and other places) till it dawned upon her, "Are you – are you sleepwalking?" she said baffled, her eyebrows drawn together.

A lack of a reply established her theory, since she'd heard John mumble once about this, when the pair of them still lived together. From what she could recall it was certainly not the same scenario, since Sherlock had done at least some easy mundane tasks, but he was certainly not doing any now. Molly wondered if his previous drug use had anything to with it. She knew enough about the subject to know that children often endured it, and adults only during stress or alcohol. He hadn't seemed under pressure last she'd seen him, stating that his recent case had been a six at best, but obviously something was bothering him.

_Maybe his…_

Her eyes automatically flitted downward, before they rose up again, and she stared at him in disbelief. This wasn't something she had the right to sort out really, she'd hardly ever heard of grown ups who'd start sleepwalking because they were having a wet dream. Neither of those things sounded like something Sherlock would do, but evidently he did. And his sleep riddled mind guided him into the place she was in, "Umm," she began, swallowing her words, as she tried to find a solution to both their problems.

Sleepwalking could last from thirty seconds, to a half hour. The fact that he'd made his way to the bathroom proved that it was certainly more than thirty, but waking him might be a painful process for him, "Sherlock? Sherlock?" she said, wondering if she was wrong. Molly was disturbed when she saw a smirk appear on his lips and she blushed, but he still didn't react like he'd do regularly. Or so she hoped, if it wasn't all some clever ruse, for some absolutely insane reason. Maybe this was a flat-mate test?

Let's be naked and see what she'll do?

Snorting, she tried to calm herself.

_What do I do? _The question repeated itself in her head, while she relaxed slightly knowing he wasn't fully himself, despite the fact that it made her feel nervous. He could be seconds away from acting out or maybe even walking out on the street. That was hardly something she could let him do, since she knew the press would have a field day with the consulting detective's _apparel._

"Okay," she said sighing loudly, trying to sort out her thoughts, while he just stood there. Somehow she hoped that his clothes would just magically appear or that she was having a dream induced by all of the damp in the room.

"Right…" she said out loud, to herself and him, "Maybe I'll get out and try to get you to bed, then? Sounds all right?" If it wasn't, he didn't argue, which was a blessed relief, since she'd rather not have him start swinging his arms at her. Sleepwalkers could act out, at least from what she recalled, and she'd rather not have a naked fight with a man who obviously was much larger than her (in several ways).

"I should get up, then," she said taking a deep breath, steeling herself, except her bravery shrunk in the bath, "I really hope you don't chose to wake up now, because that would be…awkward." _More than awkward_, she thought, especially with the impressive erection he was sporting.

"Okay, okay, I'll get up," she said nodding her head, before she raised herself up, grabbing the nearest towel she'd let rest on the edge of the tub. Wrapping it around herself quickly, she stepped out, avoiding his gaze, even if it was rather vacant.

He wouldn't remember this moment, but she certainly would. They didn't need to add more nudity into the equation, "I'll – umm – go get dressed – before I help you to bed," she said softly, trying not to jerk him out of his sleep.

When she'd began walking out, shivering at the cold, despite her fluffy towel – she heard footsteps padding behind her, and was taken aback to see him follow her into the kitchen. It was a miracle he hadn't stumbled into anything, in his state he was more likely to harm himself, since there were plenty of sharp edges about, and she really didn't want him to be damaged in a way that would make his mum pester her about him not having children. Mrs Holmes, despite her sweetness did have the sharp-eyed look of both her sons, and would most likely prove a formidable foe if she ever felt like it.

Molly stood still in the kitchen, biting at her lip, while she realized that she'd have to walk to his bedroom instead.

"Right – this is – oh so stupid," she said brightly, giving into laughter, as she knew she'd have to touch him, or manhandle him.

It wasn't manhandling exactly, the idea of innocently taking hold of his arm, but if he woke up – it would be misinterpreted, probably.

Taking hold of his muscular arm, she coughed, before she started to pull at it, intending to guide him towards his bedroom, except he wouldn't budge, "Oh bloody – okay – relax – it'll be fine Molly-," she said, _brilliant_ she was talking to herself.

He was maybe present, but he wasn't listening.

"Okay, then, right-," she said letting go of his arm.

Maybe if she ran off it would make it harder for him to follow her, and even so, him following her now, didn't mean that he'd follow her the entire way anyway. It was just a fluke, nothing more, except the second she thought of darting off, his arm grabbed hers. Gasping, she stared at his arm holding hers rather firmly, "Oh God," she moaned, "This is just getting worse."

It would be rather helpful if he chose to wake up, since at least she could explain the situation to him, since she knew he'd not read into it too much anyway. He'd probably brush it off like an every day occurrence, "Okay, I've got to get loose then…right," she said nodding, as she tried to wrench her arm out of his grip.

She got loose to her amazement; unfortunately her happiness didn't last very long. for a puddle had taken place on the floor. This very puddle caused her to slip, loosing her footing entirely, while he tried to grab hold of her once more. In one great fall she managed to pull him along with her, until they both landed with a loud thud on the floor, with him _right_ on top of her. Amidst all of this mayhem her towel had managed to slip, leaving her naked and him, still naked for that matter. Molly gasped, air suddenly knocked out of her, as she was pressed against the floor by his body. When she thought it couldn't get any worse, as pain kept her locked in place – his eyes began to blink awake.

"Oh my God," she said in a strained voice.

Apparently worse was not good enough, since she heard the familiar voice of Mrs Hudson call out, "Molly, dear. Are you up? I heard some noise."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:**Thank you AussieMaelstrom for being beta!

* * *

_"Molly, dear. Are you up? I heard some noise."_

Click. _Clack._

Her heels were inching closer. Any second Mrs Hudson would be entering the sitting room, as her steps were becoming louder and more pronounced. She was probably wearing a shoe of soft brown leather with a comfortable heel to support her hip, like always.

Tip. _Tap._

The sound of the landlady's shoes was suddenly muffled, obviously treading on the carpet now, moving closer and closer to the scene of the crime. Her brother, what would he say if he'd walked in on something like this? He'd swear first probably, burst out in laughter a second later, until he'd just shake his head at her in disappointment.

Molly wished she could do something, as crying out wasn't an option - Sherlock was more or less crushing her with his weight, constricting her chest, making her voice far too breathy and moan-like which would be certainly misunderstood when connected to the nudity.

She didn't know whom she'd rather face – him _or_ Mrs Hudson, but apparently facing both was the outcome of this particular event. The man's eyes were blinking slowly awake and he was stirring on top of her, like his other body-parts that were certainly still functioning.

A nip into the emergency room with his bits – _broken_ – wasn't something she would like to go through, but no he was still a whole male. It was amazing that it was _still_ up, jutting between her slightly parted legs, almost making her quiver. That was reason enough not to shove him off her right now, besides the fact that she didn't want to let Mrs Hudson see her naked.

There was no light at the end of the tunnel, just horror and nudity.

"Molly? Oh, must be-," and that's the second she sees someone's shoes, just like she remembered them. It doesn't take a clever person to see it's Mrs Hudson, but she doesn't expect the tiny burst of laughter, or the wide eyes of the landlady looking at them on the kitchen floor with mild curiosity, like they're some peculiar piece of art.

"Oh dear…an accident was it?"

It was, yet, she did not expect that. Mrs Hudson bending down either with a slight 'oomph' was far from her ideas of the outcome, the woman peering at with her with a great deal of sympathy.

"I've been through one of those – always a bit of a nasty shock-," she said in her cheery air.

Apparently, the most _obvious _option wasn't even an option to the older woman. Molly almost felt like toppling Sherlock away from her to show the obvious erection pressing against her and just to say – "look, it's alive," but thought better of it when she felt his breath against her face, a proper release for once. And that's of course when Sherlock chose to wake up (his cock jerking against her thigh prominently, like a queer alarm bell), his eyes boring down on hers, while she fixed her gaze on Mrs Hudson, unwilling to look at him at the moment (considering the moment, it only felt natural to be somewhat decent).

"Need any help getting up dears?" said the woman, while Molly only gaped in return, not wanting assistance in _this._

Panic.

That's what she expected.

Mrs Hudson walking in and then running out.

Maybe those odd jokes of Mary about Mrs Hudson's past being dubious had some truth in it, but she still wouldn't believe it – until now that was.

Sherlock did not move an inch and she was grateful, even if she rather struggled to breathe against his weight. He was heavier than he looked, though he'd certainly knocked some air out of her when they'd fallen on the kitchen floor to begin with, neither were the floors particularly pleasant to rest on.

"Mrs Hudson?" his voice was gravelly. "Now is not the time or the-,"

At least he could speak unlike her.

She could feel his voice through his body, the vibrations prominent, as he was clearly almost using all of his vocal cords to the aggravation of her ears.

" – It's quite normal dear – don't you worry – I'll get help-," Mrs Hudson said standing up, her knees creaking, as she was clearly not listening to a word he was saying.

"Help?" he said looking alarmed.

"No!" she managed to squeeze out in protest.

"Why not?" said Mrs Hudson stilling in her journey to find someone to rescue them.

"We're naked-," she said.

"We're trying to have sex-," said Sherlock.

And she felt her mouth could not get any wider, her head whipping around to look up at him.

"What?" she said in her small croaky voice.

He merrily raised a brow in return.

The landlady blanched, soon wiping at invisible dust on her skirt like she'd gotten fragments of 'sex' on it. "Oh – _oh – _you are? Well – that was a bit fuzzy, dear."

She really hoped the word fuzzy wasn't in reference to something, though Mrs Hudson couldn't exactly see all ofher_. _But it didn't stop her blush from spreading, as Sherlock's eyes flittered to her briefly like he'd felt the heat emanating from her at the older woman's words.

"Unclear?" said Sherlock sounding baffled. "How is me naked on top of her unclear?"

His attempt at getting Mrs Hudson out wasn't exactly working, though she wasn't wrong about it being an accident Molly certainly didn't want her to contact anyone to _assist_ them at the moment. She could only begin to imagine the papers covered with stories about the Scotland Yard being called in to assist two naked adults get off each other.

Mrs Hudson might not read the blatantly obvious subtext, but any normal person would.

The landlady gave a sheepish smile. "You're doing it a bit wrong dear, probably not what you're used to-," she said with an affectionate tinge that made Molly's stomach twist into knots.

She wished she had drowned in the bath.

"MRS HUDSON!" he shouted at an alarming volume causing Molly to flinch.

"Oh, right…I'll leave you to it dears!" she said cheerily waving them off, while Molly let the back of her head thud onto the floor, not even remotely bothered by the smarting ache on the back of her head.

She almost welcomed the pain instead of the embarrassment.

The whole neighbourhood was bound to know soon considering Mrs Hudson's propensity to gossip.

The whole of London would know.

Her brother would know, probably.

It would be just like him to rub it in her face, telling her off for having indulged in an otherwise innocent act of hygiene in the first place.

Her mind wandered for the briefest of seconds, until it returned because it really had to for _neither_ had actually moved. Their bodies were still clinging to each other naked, mild perspiration acting against them, their body's natural odours blending together and it did smell rather – "Umm – could you get off?" she said wanting to breathe something else than his deep, almost salacious musk.

If he didn't move her thoughts would never end, and she could hardly see why he needed to be on top of her any longer. This was the first and last time she would have him _naked _on top of her – ever – by the look of complete consternation set in his face, before he ungracefully lifted off her. They stuck a bit together at his dislodging himself, a fact she didn't wish to reflect on too long before she scrambled onto her knees grabbing her misplaced towel.

She didn't know if his eyes were on _her_, but right now she didn't have time to feel awkward about the nudity. They'd gone past that, and Sherlock didn't care.

He was famed for walking about naked, not considering anyone's feelings whatsoever. But that was because skin was skin and she was just another body, another vessel. Just like the chilled samples she'd given to him, all of them stored away in his fridge.

Getting to her feet with the towel tucked around her she lifted her eyes to him and saw exactly what she thought – there he was – no towel – no tea cosy – no item to prevent her eyes from being glued to his magnificent body. _Bloody hell._

And of course the glaringly obvious other _thing_ that she'd assumed would be vanquished, at least, in the presence of Mrs Hudson (she wrinkled her nose slightly at that).

"You're still naked," she said in one breath, her eyes up at the ceiling and her lips pursed in what could be seen as a thoughtful expression. Molly did not feel like she resembled cool or casual, quite the opposite.

"Yes," he drawled and she caught his stare.

"Oh," she said abruptly startled by the utter serious expression on his face, which clearly spoke volumes of his feelings, but it was rather hard to take him seriously.

The nudity ruined that.

He looked absolutely grim, while she opened and closed her mouth repeatedly, trying to find something she could say without being a complete silent nutter in his kitchen.

"You sleepwalked!" she blurted out red-cheeked and mortified. Not exactly the words that would help her out of her current dilemma, but they were the truth. And the truth was clearly what they needed. Her lying wouldn't improve the situation.

His eyebrow had risen quite a lot, underlying how much he didn't believe her. "On top of you?" he said slowly, like she was hard of hearing.

"Into the bath."

"Into the bath?"

"Bathroom that is. Not _into_ the bath. Because _I _was in the bath," she said giggling nervously, averting her gaze by staring at the wall this time, as her eyes kept drifting along his body, which he probably noticed.

He noticed everything after all, though he didn't seem to notice his…'_probably shouldn't mention that'_ she thought.

"Ah, and how exactly _did_ thistake place?"

"It was an accident really, it's actually quite funny-," she stopped when she saw his face – "Can't we talk about this when we've both got clothes on?"

"Molly, you've already seen everything, obviously," she didn't like that smirk on his face – "I don't see the point of delaying this any further than necessary."

"Okay?" she said frowning, hands perched on her hips. "Well, it's not my fault you sleepwalked."

"Then tell me the truth," he said blankly.

She stared at him – _what?_ How could he even think she was lying about this? How could she lie about this at all?

This was beyond her imagination.

"Tell you the truth? But I've told you – but – what - never mind – just please – _you_ might not notice-," and then she let her eyes stay rather fixedly on the point where she shouldn't, following the trail towards his –

He blinked.

Directing her eyes to his face she said. "I'm not the one who came into the bathroom…and followed me…"

He gaped slightly, a crinkle between his brows. "I followed…you?"

Nodding she clasped a hand in front of her face, shielding him from her view. "So please – just – you know – _cover_ yourself – before we talk any more…"

"Sherlock! What's going on? Mrs Hudson-," a voice called out, the voice of his ex-flatmate John who she saw through the crack of her fingers - _brilliant_ – just what they needed.

"Not now John!" snapped Sherlock, his voice a bit rougher than previously, though he had at least got his most protruding body-part shielded with his – microscope.

Of all the objects he could have chosen, of all the soft items probably available in the kitchen – he proceeded to take the heaviest, the trickiest of items and place it right in front of his cock.

He might as well have lit it up.

"Right…that explains the laughing…" said John shaking his head slightly. "You know, I told you to listen to me-,"

Sherlock sent him the most narrowed of stares, while she stared bewildered at the pair of them, as John continued seemingly not bothered by the nudity before him – "since this really isn't the right approach."

_Approach? _The look of irritation flickered across Sherlock's face.

"Thank you, John," and his friend seems to catch on rather slowly.

"Oh, oh – wow – okay – so you weren't?"

"No!"

Approach? Approaching _what_, exactly? And then it clicked into place, from the way he avoided her stare, to the way John quietly gestured to the exit leaving them once more on their own – 'approach her'.

She was being approached!

She blinked rather heavily at him, colour appearing in her cheeks. "Does he mean-?"

It's a small whisper, frankly it's barely audible, but she hears it, and reads the word upon his lips. "_Yes_."

Oh.

"So you…"

"Yes."

"Oh."

Awkward.

Well, it's rather difficult not being awkward. After all, he's got a microscope covering his bits and she's still in her towel, while the revelation just looms overhead, bearing down on the situation.

"But – you didn't pretend to-,"

He looks almost offended. "No," he scoffed, before he snorted. "Though I couldn't have planned it better, I suppose."

"Oh, right…"

She would feel better if he did something, perhaps got dressed, or just made a single brief movement. "Why the microscope?" she asked instead, mentally slapping herself.

"It's a large object," he said, proceeding to clear his throat. "And the nearest."

"And the most expensive," she pointed out. "You hardly want to drop that I think."

"I would think that what it does cover is perhaps considered more valuable and rather difficult to get hold of."

"Depends on which shop you go to-," she said, slapping a hand over her mouth, as she was both horrified and filled with glee upon seeing his dumbstruck face.

"Of course."

She bites her lip. "Did you really just compliment your penis?"

"Hardly," and he grinned.

"I didn't think you could get more conceited."

"I…can…"

"Well – I'm-,"

"Perfectly fine," he said giving a short curt nod, and she stares, before looking down at her towelled shape.

"But you've-,"

"Got an imagination, Molly – the mind does drift when you're around-,"

"Is this why you've barely been in the flat?" she said gaping.

His eyes are above her head, "Yes."

"I'm distracting?"

"Yes."

"But-,"

"You've just been pressed against me naked and rather wet, so I wouldn't go further with the line of enquiry if you don't-,"

"Don't what?"

" – Intend to do…anything."

"I'm supposed to do something?"

"Clothes are an option."

She laughed. "Yes, I know, or well… I saw." The cogs wheeling about in a frustratingly slow pace, as she stared at him in clear astonishment. "Wait, what?"

He furrowed his brows. "If you want…we…-"

_We._ There was a 'we' in discussion.

"So you-,"

"Yes," he said not even letting her finish, as his eyes were no longer fixed on a faraway object, but actually on her face.

"Oh."

"I thought that was fairly obvious," he said, an almost boyish grin on his face, his eyes briefly flickering down where the microscope was still blocking his –

"You're still-,"

He visibly swallowed, his Adams apple bobbing upwards. "Yes," he said in a rougher than usual voice, causing her to take a deep breath.

"Wow," she said.

She wasn't supposed to have said that out loud.

"Is that a good thing?"

She blinked. "You haven't-,"

"No," he said rather slowly.

"At all?"

"Well – _once_."

"Oh, that's nice."

"It was hardly what you would equate as nice."

Having a discussion about his past sexual exploits – or exploit – naked in his kitchen wasn't how she thought her quiet bath would turn out really. She wasn't the completely naked one, so she shouldn't be embarrassed, but she couldn't help feel flummoxed.

This was a story she could tell no one, but she knew everyone would end up knowing anyway. John Watson wasn't exactly subtle in any of his doings, writing about almost everything on his blog, especially if it involved Sherlock in any way, and this situation certainly fell under that category. What kind of situation would the blog title even be... "Consulting detective disrobed?"

It sounded like one of the lines the newspapers threw out constantly.

"Molly?" he said making her blink back into focus.

"Umm…would you like to have a bath with me?" she said looking up from the floor, meeting his gaze full on.

**THE END**


End file.
